


come fly with me

by luninosity



Category: Actor RPF, Captain America (Movies) RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Comfort Sex, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Fear of Flying, M/M, Mile High Club, Porn with Feelings, That Evanstan Airplane Video
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:12:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6565639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity/pseuds/luninosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian's really not good on airplanes. Chris provides various distractions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	come fly with me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ViperSeven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViperSeven/gifts).



> Entirely because of [this video](http://luninosity.tumblr.com/post/142821969494/lostromanianpuppy-captainamerica-a-special) and because Viper made me.
> 
> Title courtesy of Sinatra, and considering what they get up to, there's certainly a pun in there.
> 
> Written really REALLY quickly last night at like one am, so. Yep. Enjoy. :-)

The flight to Phoenix only takes an hour. Not much time. Chris has been preparing, though, so that should be okay.  
  
He’s not preparing everything for himself, or not exactly. He’ll feel better too, but that’s not the goal here.  
  
He’ll feel better, specifically, if Sebastian feels better. He keeps his hand unobtrusively at the small of Seb’s back as they board the plane. Not a big plane, but luxurious. Squishy large seats. Rows of two. Reserved for them; there’s a forward compartment for their press tour coordinator and her assistants to confer in, but he and Sebastian get to be alone back here.  
  
Sebastian…  
  
He can feel the tension in those beloved muscles already. Taut under his hand.  
  
He takes the nearest elbow as Sebastian moves to sit. Turns him instead. Pulls him close. Puts arms around him. Sebastian lets out a quiet breath and leans into the cuddling, after a second. “Sorry. We’re not even in the air yet.”  
  
“I know how you feel about flying, y’know.” He presses a kiss to Seb’s left eyebrow, a hopefully undemanding touch of lips. “I’ve got your back.”  
  
“At the moment,” Sebastian says, shaky good humor willed to the forefront, “you’ve got my face.”  
  
“I like your face. Hey, sit down for a sec, I’ve got something for you.”  
  
Sebastian sits readily, tipping that head to watch him, expectant. Sebastian’s the sweetest and most generous person Chris knows, always ready with a smile or a hug for fans, always trying to make friends and family happy: _oh, you want this to happen? Let me see what I can do, here, how’s this, if they’re out of coffee you can have mine, I can absolutely learn that recipe for you…_  
  
Sebastian should never have to be white-faced and scared and shivering. Chris hates that this happens.  
  
He hates even more than he can’t magically fix it. He knows what anxiety feels like. He knows those creeping clashing irrational claws, no reasons to be argued with, only breaths that rattle bones and dizziness in his vision. He wishes Sebastian didn’t.  
  
His own anxiety’s social: people, demands, eyes gazing upon him and measuring him up. He’s worked out ways to cope, after lots of years and pensive philosophical readings and a few different therapists.  
  
Sebastian worries about a lot besides flying—Chris knows some of those stories, knows the way Seb’s harder on himself than any critic ever could be—but this anxiety, here and now, is environmental. So he might be able to help. He has been able to help, before.  
  
Support. A hand to clutch. Distractions. Oh yes. Distractions.  
  
The first thing he pulls out is a brand-new biography of James Dean. “Here.”  
  
Sebastian’s eyes light up. Chris loves that brightness. Would buy entire libraries to keep it shining forever. “This is the new one! Wait, that’s not out until next week, how’d you—”  
  
He’d made some calls. “Nope, secret. No questions.”  
  
Sebastian lifts an eyebrow—the just-kissed one—at him.  
  
“Behave,” Chris says, which gets _both_ eyebrows to fly up. That’s a dynamic they mostly—not always, but mostly—save for the bedroom. Enjoyably so.  
  
“Hmm,” Sebastian says. “Yes, Chris.” His eyes add, _I know what you’re doing, and I love you for it._ “May I read this now, or did you want me to wait?”  
  
“You can start while I run to the bathroom,” Chris says. Part of the plan. “I’ll be right back.”  
  
When he gets back Sebastian’s got one long leg stretched across the seat beside him, absorbed in a page; but his hand’s not quite steady as he turns a page. They’ve got a few minutes before take-off; waiting on luggage-loading below.  
  
Chris actually has to clear his throat to get pale snowdrop eyes to look up. Sebastian does love James Dean. Has one of his actual candleholders. Prized possession. “Hey.”  
  
“Oh—sorry.” Seb looks. And looks again. “That…you changed belts…to _that_ belt…”  
  
“So you noticed.”  
  
Sebastian swallows. Eyes getting wider, darker, remembering many occasions. This red belt also plays a role in the bedroom. Sometimes wrapped around those pianist’s wrists. Sometimes cracking across a backside. Sometimes looped around Seb’s throat and tugged. Sometimes held between Seb’s own teeth, a makeshift gag or harness.  
  
Sebastian squirms in his chair. Second distraction: check.  
  
Chris sits down beside him. Drapes an arm casually over his shoulders. Tugs him close, runs a hand over him: chest to hip to thigh. “Mine.”  
  
Sebastian nods, gazing at him.  
  
“I’m here,” Chris says. “I’m here and that’s all you need to worry about. Just be good for me.”  
  
Sebastian nods again, more slowly, lips parted. He’s starting to look a little hazy, not subspace but lured under by Chris’s voice and orders and certainty, by the command to be good.  
  
The door opens and a flight attendant comes in. She’s perky and pretty and familiar; she’s been on Marvel-reserved planes before. She smiles at them.  
  
Chris nudges Seb. Seb sits up and watches the safety demonstration as if he’s not heard it a thousand times before. His lips get more colorless. His hand in Chris’s squeezes tighter. Not good. Steps back.  
  
Take-off’s not good either. LAX is a busy airport and the runway’s short and the breeze is kicking up. Sebastian starts breathing faster. Too fast. His eyes aren’t seeing Chris anymore.  
  
“Seb,” Chris says. “Seb. Come on, breathe, we know how to do this, breathe with me.” Sebastian’s fingers have a crushing grip on his hand. “You said you were going to listen. So listen. You’re doing good, you’re fine, you’re so good, we’re safe, come here.”  
  
Sebastian’s shaking, barely noticeable but continuous tremors. He makes a sound when the plane drops slightly in the air.  
  
“Okay,” Chris says, “come on, shut your eyes,” and twists awkwardly to let Seb cuddle against his chest. Fucking seatbelts; not really, of course, he’s in favor of seatbelts in general, but they’re getting in the way.  
  
Sebastian curls into him as best they can manage. Shuts his eyes trustingly. Chris puts a hand over them, taking control so he doesn’t have to. Rubs his back with the other hand. “Just listen to my voice, okay? You’re here and I’m here and I love you and that’s all you have to think about right now.” He doesn’t expect a response, but Sebastian surprises him with a nod.  
  
Chris’s heart leaps. Seb’s here with him. He’s so proud and so amazed and so grateful: he’s helped. He’s helped this man, whom he loves.  
  
“Love you,” Sebastian whispers back as the plane hits cruising altitude and settles in. “I’m here. With you.”  
  
He doesn’t apologize. Nothing to apologize for.   
  
Next time it’ll be Chris’s turn to need the hand-holding. Soon, in fact: after this surprise premiere event and eyes that scrutinize. Sebastian will lie down with him in bed and breathe with him, letting Chris be still and tucked away and guarded by love. Sebastian won’t ask anything of him, but will let him simply _be_ , lying there, two solid tangible bodies together against the world.  
  
They level out and fly on through the blue, gradually finding serenity. White clouds and lowering sun accompany them, at their backs.  
  
The attendant offers drinks. Chris asks for water for himself and ginger ale for Sebastian, who gives him a rueful but amused sort of look. Chris also tends to order for them both in restaurants when the endgame involves wrist cuffs or nipple clamps back at home.  
  
She comes back with beverages and then considerately leaves them alone.   
  
He lets Sebastian take a sip. Checks the time. About half an hour of actual flying before they start the descent. Good enough.  
  
He puts a hand on Seb’s wrist. Puts a foot atop Seb’s, pinning it to the ground.  
  
Sebastian nearly drops his ginger ale.  
  
Chris picks up both their drinks and moves them to the tray-tables on the other side. Sebastian stares at him.  
  
“So I’m going to the bathroom,” Chris says. “Feel like exploring it with me?” Nobody’s around, not like they need to pretend, and his goofy eyebrow-waggle gets Seb to giggle, which is important.  
  
Sebastian nods, cheerful and solemn and entertained. “Yes, please.”  
  
“Good,” Chris says, “come on, then,” and trails a hand along Seb’s cheek, getting up.  
  
They don’t really fit in the tiny stall, both being superhero-sized and possessing tendencies toward clumsiness. But they make it work. Chris picks Seb up and holds him; Seb wraps legs around Chris’s waist with that gymnastics-role flexibility. The toilet bumps the back of Chris’s legs; he ends up sitting down with Sebastian in his lap, which is just about the best place to be ever.  
  
Sebastian’s half-hard, lingering stress a factor, but rapidly getting on board. More so when Chris puts a hand at the nape of his neck and kisses him deep and slow, deliberately drawing out licks and nuzzles and teasing bites until Seb starts panting and whimpering in Romanian and completely forgetting that they’re hurtling through the air at improbable speeds.  
  
He slips a hand between them. Rubs Seb’s cock; his own pushes up too, not much space. He gets the other hand on that delectable ass and nudges Seb forward, rocking into him.  
  
Sebastian moans. “Chris—”  
  
“You want me to fuck you?”  
  
“Yes, please yes—wait, do we have—”  
  
“You think I didn’t plan this? I didn’t just buy you a book, y’know.”  
  
“Oh.” Sebastian’s eyes get wider, happy. “You thought of everything.”  
  
“I’m like a Boy Scout.” Which gets Sebastian to laugh delightedly, clutching his shoulders for support. “Stand up for a sec.”  
  
“Without stepping on you?”  
  
“Hmm—okay, can you get a leg on the sink? God, I love your gymnastics movie—”  
  
“I might take up yoga.”  
  
“I love _you_.” He did try to plan. He’s always needed that. A form of being in control, knowing what’s coming next, knowing he’s overseen and done everything he can. Why he likes directing: his vision, his hands guiding the project. Helps with the anxiety, knowing exactly what’s been set up and what’s been achieved and what he’s responsible for.  
  
A bonus: Sebastian likes him being in control. They’d figured that out gradually, over the first few months of them _being_ a them, discoveries every single day. Sebastian likes pleasing people and being good and gets off like fireworks at any hint of praise; Chris has had quite a lot of fun arranging scenes, asking him to take a certain exact number of spanks while counting precisely or to kneel with bound hands and stay _perfectly_ still while Chris fucks his mouth, and then lavishing him with praise and petting upon success, until Sebastian comes in a trembling ecstatic wave from just the murmured words and gentle caresses.   
  
Sebastian’s actually not big on pain, at least not pain without associated pleasure. Commands he can follow, yes; new sensations to explore, yes. Hurt or humiliation: no. Hard no to that last one. Chris had said something stupid once, back when they’d still been learning. He remembers exactly what. He’ll never say it again.   
  
Sebastian’d stared at him, and wetness had welled up in big blue eyes, real shocked bewildered tears. Had said “Winter,” their proper _stop right now something’s wrong_ safeword, but said it very small: not ashamed of tapping out but scared about whether the words had been meant to ring true. Chris had cut him out of restraints because every second mattered, and had cried too, holding him.   
  
_Never_ again. He’d said so then, and he’d meant it. He can’t swear nothing’ll _ever_ hurt Sebastian—the world’s an ugly place sometimes, and they both know as much—but he can learn from mistakes. That’s one less hurtful thing out there.  
  
This is a good thing, though. This is good for them both.  
  
He says, “Pants off. Or as off as you can.”  
  
Sebastian laughs, lighting up the universe as usual, and wriggles around. Gets slim-fit dark pants and scarlet panties down to his thighs, which is good enough.  
  
“Red?”  
  
“I like red.”  
  
“I know.” Sebastian likes indulgent underthings. A stealthy pop of color that only he and Chris know about. A shared secret written in silkiness and lace against his skin. “Did I buy you those?”  
  
“These? No. The other red ones, with the satin edges. These’re old.”  
  
“Then you don’t care if I ruin them?”  
  
“Fuck,” Sebastian breathes, looking impressed. “No, Chris.”  
  
“We’ll see how this goes.” Time’s darting ahead. He grabs his belt. “Hands. In front of you.” Sebastian holds them out, lets Chris tie the hasty knot. Blue eyes get a bit more unfocused at that, tipsy on desire. He grabs the bottle of lube once Seb’s hands’re done. “Turn around. Just like that. Perfect.”  
  
Sebastian blushes a little, smiling. Chris grins. Slips fingers along his crack, over his exposed little hole. Pretty and pink and furled like a flower. A bit loose still from this morning’s exertions. _Definitely_ perfect.  
  
He gets Seb nice and wet, gets two fingers deep inside and makes him moan, arching his back as Chris sits behind him on the closed toilet seat in the tiny space and plays with his body. Time, time, time; he’s not going to be anything less than careful, but maybe a bit more haste than usual, and Seb doesn’t seem to mind—  
  
He grabs those hips. Pulls Seb down into his lap. Onto his cock.  
  
His arms wraps around the man he loves from behind. His body moves, himself pushing up, sliding inexorably into Sebastian’s yielding space.  
  
Sebastian moans again and pushes down, shoving more of Chris’s length into himself. He gasps but does it once more, eager, and Chris thrusts back and fills him up.   
  
“So good,” he murmurs, mouth hot against Sebastian’s ear. They’re both mostly dressed, shirts and jackets on, Sebastian sitting on his lap with pants yanked down just enough. “You feel so good, just like that—fuck, look at you, doing everything I ask, letting me fuck you in an airplane bathroom, just taking it—taking this so well for me, I love you, I’m so proud of you—” He’s got one arm around Seb’s throat, not tight, just making its presence known; the other hand’s stroking Seb’s flushed cock, which jerks and dribbles slickness over his fingers.  
  
His own cock’s surrounded by wet clenching heat, as Seb squirms. He’s close too, watching, hearing his own words.  
  
“I want you to be good one more time,” he says, “I want you to come for me when I tell you to, okay? Ready?”  
  
Sebastian whimpers. Nods, rocking into the next thrust of Chris inside him, the next stroke of his cock.   
  
“Now,” Chris says, “come, let me see you,” and Seb trembles and tightens around him and listens, pulse after pulse spilling into Chris’s cupped hand.  
  
“Oh, so good,” Chris tells him, “so fuckin’ good for me, all mine,” and holds the hand up to his lips; Sebastian slips that tongue out and licks at the mess of his come on Chris’s fingers, hazy from climax and command, and lovely.  
  
That sight, that pink tongue-tip devoutly lapping away, kicks him over the edge too. He comes with a groan, holding onto Sebastian, letting release roll through him.  
  
After, he uses Seb’s panties—willing accomplices in this worthy cause—plus paper towels to clean up the mess. Sebastian’s in no shape to help, but blinks at him, gaze gradually sharpening. “That…wow.”  
  
“Check airplane bathrooms off the bucket list?”  
  
“Something I never thought I’d say.” Those eyes sparkle. “Thank you for that. For—this. For—god, I don’t even know—” Sebastian’s laughing, the kind of giddy euphoria sometimes present after a good scene. “Wow.”  
  
“Love you.”  
  
“ _Te iubesc._ I love you.”  
  
“Now you get to crash the Phoenix premiere without underwear.”  
  
“Well.” Sebastian considers this. “Your fault. So you’ll be thinking about it too.”  
  
“Sounds good,” Chris says, and ushers him back to their seats. Seb sits down somewhat gingerly, he observes. Excellent.  
  
They still have about ten minutes to kill before the seatbelt sign’s back on, because he’s fucking brilliant at time management. Sebastian looks sex-flushed and untidy and lovely; Chris gives him chocolate to nibble on—good for helping with any potential crash, but also just because Seb on a sugar high is adorably and endlessly entertaining—and the rest of his ginger ale, and gets out Skittles for himself, and then just sits there and beams idiotically at him, wordless and overjoyed.  
  
The plane rocks suddenly. Lurches to the left. Wind. It’s not a big aircraft, after all.  
  
Sebastian bites a lip, tired but shaken out of bliss; this can’t happen, so Chris pulls out his last contingency plan. “We should make a video.”  
  
Pale blue eyes get huge, over a hovering square of chocolate. Chris rethinks context. “I meant to say hi to fans! To tease them. About this trip.”  
  
Sebastian’s easily diverted by any appreciation of his fans. “Oh. Yes. Fine, but what did you want to do?”  
  
“Just say hi. You sit right there. I’ll do most of the talking.” He sets Seb’s phone up. Waves at it. Contemplates their reflections. “Um.”  
  
“Hats,” Sebastian announces, and dives for ways to cover their sex-disaster hair.  
  
When they start recording, he stands up so Seb can stretch out long legs and take some weight off that poor well-used backside, and goes with, “Chris here!” Energy. Excitement. And he is excited. Triumphant. Full of afterglow.  
  
Because they haven’t rehearsed, Sebastian just offers, “Sebastian…” and pauses.  
  
“…there,” Chris fills in, pointing, grinning, knowing his heart’s in his eyes. Sebastian’s is too, looking up at him, so that’s glorious. Everything’s glorious. “We’re on our way to a screening…”  
  
The finished product’s glorious too. Seb’s nibbling chocolate and appears sated and pink-cheeked; Chris himself comes across as goofy and relaxed and exuberant, which is pretty much how he feels. They bounce back and forth flawlessly. In sync. As ever: on set, in bed, and now on airplanes too.  
  
They get the twenty-three second final product up just before final descent. Sebastian’s calmer, grounded by chocolate and kisses, distracted by hoping the fans like the gift. He still holds Chris’s hand and closes his eyes, but the descent’s smooth, and Chris keeps talking, rambling, babbling about how great their fanbase really is, how generous and passionate. Sebastian nods along, nestled securely back under his arm, and even offers one or two tiny-voiced stories about some of the fans he’s met and adored. Contentment burrows into Chris’s chest and makes itself at home.  
  
He keeps Sebastian’s hand in his even after they’re on the ground. Phoenix unfolds around them, Arizona evening heat, Western and dry and cactus-dotted, though not visibly so on the tarmac, anyway. Sebastian’s never been to Arizona, and peeks out the window with vast curiosity, keeping hold of Chris’s fingers in turn.  
  
“I thought it would be more desert.”  
  
“It’s a city.”  
  
“Yes, I know…oh, that sign has a cactus wearing cowboy boots on it, look…hmm.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I seem to be a bit sore.”  
  
“Sorry?”  
  
“No,” Sebastian says, “wonderful, Chris, I might even like flying to Arizona with you,” and kisses him, lips dry from plane air and delicious from chocolate and sweet from himself, sweet as every adventure they’ll leap into together. 


End file.
